“Kezia?”

“Yes?” Kezia sat very still as Tiffany tried to make her mind stick to one thought.

“Do you love me?” Kezia was stunned, and Tiffany looked horrified. She had been absent-minded and it had slipped out. The question again. The demon that haunted her. “I … I’m sorry … I … I was thinking of someone else….” There were tears flooding Kezia’s eyes now as Tiffany brought her gaze from the window to rest on Kezia’s face.

“It’s all right, Tiffie. It’s okay.” She put her arms around her friend and there was a long moment of silence. The chauffeur glanced into the rearview mirror, then hastily averted his eyes and sat rigid, behind the wheel, patient imperturbable and profoundly and eternally discreet. Neither of the young women noted his presence. They had been brought up to think that way. He waited a full five minutes while the women in the back seat sat hugged wordlessly and there was the sound of gentle weeping. He wasn’t sure which woman was crying.

“Madam?”

“Yes, Harley?” Tiffany sounded very young and very hoarse.

“Where are we taking Miss Saint Martin?”

“Oh … I don’t know.” She dried her eyes with one gloved hand, and looked at Kezia with a half smile. “Where are you going?”

“I … the Sherry-Netherland. Can you drop me off there?”

“Sure.” The car had already started, and the two settled back in their seat, holding hands between fine beige kid and black suede and saying nothing. There was nothing either could say: too much would have to be said if either of them ever began to try. The silence was easier. Tiffany wanted to invite Kezia home to dinner, but she couldn’t remember if Bill was in town, and he didn’t like her friends. He wanted to be able to read the work he brought home after dinner, or go out to his meetings, without feeling he had to stick around and make chitchat. Tiffany knew the rules. No one to dinner, except when Bill brought them home. It had been years since she’d tried … that was why … that was how … in the beginning, she had been so lonely. With Daddy gone, and Mother … well, Mother … and she had thought babies of their own … but Bill didn’t want them around either. Now the children ate at five-thirty with Nanny Singleton in the kitchen, and Nanny thought it “unwise” for Tiffany to eat with them. It made the children “uncomfortable.” So she ate alone in the dining room at seven-thirty. She wondered if Bill would be home for dinner tonight, or just how angry he would be if….

“Kezia?”

“Hm?” Kezia had been lost in her own painful thoughts, and she had had a dull pain in her stomach for the last twenty minutes. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you come to dinner tonight?” She looked like a little girl with a brilliant idea.

“Tiffie … it … I …I’m sorry, love, but I just can’t.” She couldn’t do that to herself. And she had to see Mark. Had to. Needed to. Her survival came first, and the day had already been trying enough. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. Not to worry.” She kissed Kezia gently on the cheek as Harley drew up to the Sherry-Netherland, and the hug they exchanged was ferocious, born of the longing of one and the other’s remorse.

“Take good care, will you?”

“Sure.”

“Call me sometime soon?”

Tiffany nodded.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Tiffany looked old again as they exchanged a last smile, and Kezia waved once as she disappeared into the lobby. She waited five minutes and then came out and hailed a cab, and sped south to SoHo, trying to forget the anguish in Tiffany’s eyes. Driving north, Tiffany poured herself one more quick Scotch.

“My God, it’s Cinderella! What happened to my shirt?”

“I didn’t think you’d notice. Sorry, love, I left it at my place.”

“I can spare it. It is Cinderella, isn’t it? Or are you running for president again?” He was leaning against the wall, observing the day’s work, but his smile told her he was glad she was back home with him.

“State senator, actually. Running for president is so obvious.” She grinned at him and shrugged. “I’ll get out of this stuff and go get some food.”

“Before you do, Madam Senator …” He walked purposefully toward her with a mischievous grin.

“Oh?” The suit jacket was already off, her hair down, her blouse half-unbuttoned.

“Yes, ‘oh.’ I missed you today.”

“I didn’t even think you’d notice I was gone. You looked busy when I left.”

“Well, I’m not busy now.” He swept her into his arms, her stockinged feet dangling over his arms, her black hair sweeping his face. “You look pretty all dressed up. Sort of like that girl I saw in the paper while you were gone, but nicer. Much, much nicer. She looked like a bitch.” Kezia let her head fall back gently against his chest as she began to laugh.

“And I’m not a bitch?”

“Never, Cinderella, never.”

“What illusions you have.”

“Only about you.”

“Fool. Sweet, sweet fool….” She kissed him gently on the mouth, and in a moment the rest of her clothes marked a path to his bed. It was dark by the time they got up.

“What time is it?”

“Must be about ten.” She stretched and yawned. It was dark in the apartment. Mark leaned out of bed to light a candle and then snuggled back into her arms. “Want to go out for dinner?”

“No.”

“Me neither, but I’m hungry, and you didn’t buy any food, did you?” She shook her head. “I was in too much of a hurry to get home. Somehow I was more anxious to see you than to see Fiorella.”

“No big deal. We can sup on peanut butter and Oreos.”

She answered with a choking sound and a hand clasped to her throat. Then she laughed and they kissed and they made their way to the bathtub where they splashed each other generously before sharing his one purple towel. With no monogram. From Korvette’s.

She was thinking, as she dried herself, that SoHo had come too late for her. Maybe at twenty it would have seemed real, perhaps then she might have believed it. Now it was fun … special … lovely … Mark’s, but not hers. Other places belonged to her, all those places she didn’t even want, but inadvertently owned.

“Do you dig what you do, Kezia?” She paused for a long moment before answering, and then shrugged.

“Maybe yes, maybe no, maybe I don’t even know.”

“Maybe you ought to figure it out.”

“Yeah. Maybe I should figure it out before noon tomorrow.” She had remembered the luncheon engagement with Whit.

“Is there some big deal tomorrow?” He looked puzzled, and she shook her head as they shared a handful of cookies and the last of the wine.

“Nope. No big deal tomorrow.”

“You made it sound like there was.”

“Nope. As a matter of fact, my love, I’ve just decided that when you reach my age very little is a ‘big deal.’” Not even you, or your lovemaking, or your sweet delicious young body, or my own bloody life….

“May I quote you, Methuselah?”

“Absolutely. They’ve been quoting me for years.” And then in the clear autumn night, she laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Everything. Absolutely everything.”

“I think you’re drunk.” The idea amused him, and for a moment she wished that she were.

“Only a little drunk on life maybe … your kind of life.”

“Why my kind of life? Can’t this be your kind of life too? What’s so different about your life and my life for christsake?”

Oh Jesus. This wasn’t the time.

“The fact that I’m running for state senator, of course!”

He pulled her around to face him as she tried to laugh him off.

“Kezia, why can’t you be straight with me? Sometimes you give me the feeling that I don’t even know who you are.” His grip on her arm troubled her, almost as much as the question in his eyes. But she only shrugged with an evasive smile. “Well, I’ll tell you, Cinderella, whoever you are, I think you’re gassed.” They both laughed as she followed him into the bedroom, and she wiped two silent, unseen tears from her cheeks. He was a nice boy, but he didn’t know her. How could he? She wouldn’t let him know her. He was only a boy.


Chapter 5


“Miss Saint Martin, how nice to see you!”

“Thank you, Bill. Is Mr. Hayworth here yet?”

“No, but we have the table waiting. May I show you in?”

“No, thank you. I’ll wait at the fireplace.”

The “21” Club was crammed with lunch-hungry bodies. Business executives, high-fashion models, well-known actors, producers, the gods of the publishing world, and a handful of dowagers. The Scions of Meccas. The restaurant was alive with success. The fireplace was a peaceful corner where Kezia could wait before entering the whirling currents with Whit. “21” was fun but she wasn’t quite in the mood.

She hadn’t wanted to come to lunch. It was strange the way it was all getting a little bit harder. Maybe she was getting too old for a double life. Her thoughts turned to Edward. Maybe she’d see him at “21” for lunch, but he was more likely to be found at Lutèce or the Mistral. His luncheon leanings were usually French.

“How do you suppose the children would feel about it if we took them to Palm Beach? I don’t want them to feel I’m pushing out their father.” The wisp of conversation made Kezia turn her head. Well, well, Marina Walters and Halpern Medley. Things were certainly progressing. Item One for tomorrow’s news. They hadn’t see her discreetly folded in one of the large red leather chairs. The advantage of being small. And quiet.

And then she saw Whit, elegant and youthful and tanned, in a dark gray suit and Wedgewood blue shirt. She waved at him and he walked over to her chair.

“You’re looking awfully well today, Mr. Hayworth.” She held out a hand to him from her comfortable seat, and he kissed her wrist lightly, then clasped her fingers loosely in his.